


like honey and wildfire

by Mythmaker



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: (oops), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Will Absolutely Take the Mickey Out Of Him When He Has The Chance, Bodyswap, Gaius Has Known Arthur Since He Was a Babe, Guinevere is a Good Egg But If You Think She's Never Done Shenanigans You're Wrong, Humor, M/M, Merlin & Morgana Friendship (Merlin), Post s2e06, Snippets of Unrecognized Trauma, That is all, Uther Pendragon's A+ Parenting (Merlin), ambiguous magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28298421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythmaker/pseuds/Mythmaker
Summary: Merlin’s body raised its hands up, as if to strangle the air.“…Are you done?”“No. In my mind, you’re still kicking your legs,” Merlin’s voice was just shy of furious.“Oh that’s helpful.”==When the prince and his servant swap bodies for no discernable reason, they desperately clamor to right the situation. And learn some interesting things along the way.
Relationships: Gwen & Merlin & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon
Comments: 9
Kudos: 97
Collections: Round Table Gift Exchange 2020





	like honey and wildfire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [randomskittles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomskittles/gifts).



>   
>  _... you both shine gold._   
> 
> 
> \--
> 
> To Randomskittles: who gave me possibly the best prompt I could ask for. I had so much fun doing this and honestly I want to do MORE with this...so... Win-win? Hope you enjoy!

“Will you stand up straight?”

“I _am_ standing straight,” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

“No you’re not, you’re standing like your shoulders never had reason to lift. Come on – ”

“Stop fussing, Arthur, I’m about ready to fold over as is – ”

“ _Stop calling me that out loud_ , do you _want_ to lose your body to the pyre?”

“Obviously not, prat – and you can stop making me look like I have a pole shoved up my arse– ”

“Your spine needs discipline, unlike mine.”

Two pairs of blue eyes glowered at each other, stalemated.

The prince and his servant stood tall at exactly the same time.

Merlin’s face turned a particular shade of smug that looked odd playing across his features. “See? Is that so difficult?”

Prince Arthur’s lips twisted, then smoothed into a guileless grin. “Not that difficult. I do look up to you, after all.”

“What –” There was an abrupt, dire silence that interrupted Merlin’s voice from continuing.

A polite cough. “I said, ‘I do look up to you, aft–’ ”

“Shut up. Shut. Up. I hate this. I hate you.”

“I’m sure hating me is quite helpful, seeing as I am equally inconvenienced.”

“How are _you_ the one being inconvenienced? You’re technically the prince as of this moment,” Merlin’s tone sounded like it was struggling to say these words. They fell from his mouth like lead weights. “You have power.”

“I also have to be _you_ ,” Arthur’s voice said, and it was fortunate there were no passersby to overhear this particular conversation. “Which is, honestly, just the worst.”

Merlin’s body raised its hands up, as if to strangle the air.

“…Are you done?”

“No. In my mind, you’re still kicking your legs,” Merlin’s voice was just shy of furious.

“Oh _that’s_ helpful.”

==

Wait. Let’s go back a step.

==

For the record, this wasn’t Merlin’s fault.

There was no accidental curse, no mis-murmured spell, no wishful thinking on his part (probably - maybe), which brought him both elation and immediate disappointment. Merlin was absolutely certain other sorcerers didn’t have to worry about _feeling_ too hard in some way and _accidentally altering reality_. Perhaps the druids would call it a gift of unimaginable power. Perhaps Merlin simply yearned to wake up and _not_ have to worry about magicking in his sleep in the middle of Camelot, anti-magic capital of the known kingdoms.

So yes, he had double-checked. This wasn’t _his_ magic.

This was Arthur’s bed. These were his hands, his hair. His voice, in a yelp, where Merlin’s inherent clumsiness somehow transcended his physical form and knocked his elbow into one of the four posters of the bed.

The realization came belatedly, after pinching the arm he was currently controlling several times to make _absolutely_ sure this wasn’t a very involved dream. It was certainly confusing enough.

At least it wasn’t one of _those_ dreams.

Shaking his thoughts free, Merlin moved. His body – well not _his_ body, obviously – felt like every bit of skin and sinew had decided to take two steps to the left. Everything was tight and off-putting.

Furtive, he eyed the doors and then the windows, then bit his lip and raised his hand outstretched.

A soft roar of hot air and flame, and the fireplace was lit. Merlin breathed a deep sigh of relief.

That was one thing he didn’t have to worry about, which wasn’t saying all that much.

==

“Gaius can’t know - no one can know.”

Merlin, or Not-Arthur as he had titled himself, grimaced. “I don’t see how we can pull this off without some sort of support. We don’t even know how long this could last - and he’s the only one who might be able to figure it out.”

Hearing Arthur’s voice all reasonable like this was making him very uncomfortable.

“He would be obligated to tell my father,” Arthur, wearing Merlin’s body like an ill-fitted suit of armor, shook his head. “No. He can’t know.”

Well bugger that, thought Merlin. Gaius would know as soon as he could get within whispering distance. But of course, Arthur didn’t have to know that Gaius knew. Certainly not.

This plan wasn’t convoluted at all.

“I know your schedule well enough.” Merlin did not acquiesce verbally, but his eyes had done something akin to looking agreeable in Arthur’s direction and that seemed to work. “The question is - no, it's not a question. You have absolutely no idea what I do all day.”

“Tavern?” Arthur didn’t sneer, but he grazed the tone ever-so-slightly.

“Sire,” Merlin hadn’t dipped into this well of targeted disdain for some time, but it felt so, _so_ good. “You have breakfast, then briefings with your father. You train through the early afternoon with the knights, then accompany a party to patrol troubled areas as scouted by your father and his advisors. Or Morgana ropes you into something and dinner is remarkably awkward. Or we have visiting lords, and you butter them up during your evening meal. Then you read recorded battle strategies and have mulled wine. Then you sleep.”

Arthur was staring at him with the face of a man who’d been slapped by a fish.

“Now, do me. What is my schedule like?”

“I do _not_ do the same thing every day!”

That was the man’s take away? Good grief. “Mn. No. Sometimes you even squeeze in more time to ridicule me and toss things at my head.”

Their friendship was odd in every possible respect. Merlin could barely quantify what it was when they weren’t dancing these steps. No time to examine that too closely.

Though he could do without the sputtering. “It’s fine,” Merlin sighed, overwrought entirely on purpose. “I’ll walk you through it. Should be easy for you.”

==

It was not easy for him.

For one thing, Arthur hated feeling like he had extra arms and legs. He had _counted_ after yelling awake this morning. He had made _sure_. But Merlin really was this … ~~tall~~ gangly, and it didn’t take more than casual carelessness to cause serious injury. To himself or others.

Everything in Arthur’s power was used to not stub a toe or wang a kneecap, and frankly all that work might have been sapping what little sense he had left.

After their more-audible-than-was-necessary- _Merlin_ conversation, Merlin-As-Arthur had spoken privately to Gaius. They had agreed that neither of should be doing more work than strictly necessary. Merlin could handle his normal chores for Arthur on his own (as long as no one was present to see him). And he would tell Gaius to leave ‘Merlin’ more space between duties. This was his way of lessening Arthur’s chances of looking like an idiot.

Merlin’s words. Of course.

After night fell, they would reconvene and look for solutions, if the spell (and it had to be a spell) didn’t wear off before then.

In fact, for a brief moment, Arthur felt remarkably grateful. He had been raised on the horror stories of usurping lords and disloyal servants, simpering after power no matter how it fell into their hands, or attempts at sabotaging those on the throne. Magic made it so easy to pull off a coup, and this situation was absolutely the most dastardly thing he could think of outside of murder to accomplish taking over Camelot.

Had Merlin been anyone else, Arthur’s life and crown could have been in peril.

But no. There was no such guile in Merlin. Not for this. ~~Honorable~~ irritating as the man was, he would never be accompli to something so sinister.

Or so he thought.

“I’m sorry, we’re what?”

“Daere is in early labor,” Gaius shuffled between one table and another, selecting specific vials with deftness that belied his age. “I hope I don’t have to repeat myself while we’re helping the woman give birth.” He fixed what-looked-to-be-his-apprentice with a rather stunning eyebrow. “Now, stop asking foolish questions and help me with my bags.”

 _Nevermind_ , his innermost voice said cheerfully. _Once this nightmare is over, I’ll murder him myself_.

==

Morgana was looking at him with Intent.

Merlin was looking at the northwestern window, steadfast in perpetuating his ignorance. It was a very nice window. Perhaps, soon, he could find a a way to leap out of it and end this little chat.

“Arthur.”

Mmnnn. No. Nope.

“Arthur, I know you can hear me. Stop being childish.”

“I can’t hear you,” Merlin tried for snotty but he was fairly sure he simply sounded desperate. “There’s an ill-wind blowing very loudly in my ears.”

“Tell to me, precisely, what you said to Uther this morning.”

Guinevere, who was not present for this dressing down, had a larger mouth than he gave her credit for. He would remember this.

Merlin had by now memorized Arthur’s most put-upon noises, and imitated one such sound with eerie accuracy. A scoff of royal repute. “Morgana, I haven’t the faintest idea –”

“You actually spoke of magic willingly.”

 _Guinevere is dead to me_.

“I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did,” Morgana continued with undeserved certainty. Her eyes might as well have been boring a hole into his skull.

It had been the worst conversation of his life. Merlin knew, in his heart of hearts, that he wouldn’t have been able to keep his mouth shut in the face of any casual bigotry if he had even the smidgest amount of leeway to survive the consequences. This was why he felt free to toss barbs at Arthur, and Arthur (after further testing of the waters (some harmless, some _way_ more pointed than necessary)) would jab in return. Arthur wouldn’t kill him for offering an idea, even if he disagreed wholeheartedly.

So, yeah. He’d absolutely broken a rule they hadn’t even _discussed._ Arthur wouldn’t think Merlin, of all people, would be so foolish as to try to talk about _magic_ in front of Uther. Even tangentially.

Everyone was a fool, and there was no one bigger than Merlin himself.

“I had simply,” Merlin tried, again, aiming for something more aloof than the lingering, _bone crushing terror_. “Mentioned that the trade routes through the western woods would be far more protected than the paths through the open plains to the east.”

“Arthur, the Druids have camps there. Presently. You know this.”

Actually, he hadn’t known this. Well he _had_ , but he’d forgotten.

In his defense, _he_ was perfectly safe traveling that route. Actually, the only people in danger were the druids, Merlin was fairly sure of that.

Uther had not exploded. At first.

_The man had laughed, light-hearted. “Arthur, that is patently foolish to suggest,” a sentence that would normally have Arthur backing so far down he’d meet the Great Dragon on his way through to the center of the earth. Merlin usually understood the temptation to cow in the face of Uther’s terrifying presence, but he’d spent a lifetime learning the shape of his own fury - a fury Arthur could never know. And thus wasn’t in the mood to bare his neck._

_“Y - Father,” and how his mind had screamed at the word. It hadn’t been mere japery when he claimed it was the worst to be in Arthur’s shoes. Specifically him, Merlin. Current sorcerer. Bastard. Gaius had once called him a living plague amongst glassware. “They are already in hiding, and they haven’t shown any violence toward travelers to or from Camelot.” May the gods strike him down, he was still talking._

At least Merlin now knew the Slapped-With-A-Fish expression was genetic.

“What on earth was going through your head?” Morgana didn’t sound so incredulous, more giddy, her bright eyes alight with a mischief Merlin hadn’t seen in a surprisingly long time.

He felt oddly bereft at that. Well not so odd. He was guilty.

Merlin knew what Arthur would normally do, and had been prepared to move forward with a faintly imperious ‘I have no idea what you mean.’ And then he felt himself frown, the tail-end of the argument playing in his mind.

“I’m not sure. It doesn’t feel just,” he said, words clipped. If there was impatience, it lay solely with himself. _I shouldn’t say these things. Arthur would never say these things. Especially not to Morgana._

“I know,” the lady opined, heart on her face. Merlin struggled not to squirm. “It is … a surprise. I haven’t heard you say so. Not for a long time.”

And now it was his turn to feel surprise.

Still, Merlin winced. “Well, I just barely avoided corporal punishment today.” Yes, it was entirely emotional damage. Merlin wasn’t even related to the man, but he felt for the first time the absolute, crushing authority of Uther’s Parental Disapproval. How was Arthur even alive? “Maybe I can space it out between seasons.”

To his surprise, Morgana laughed. It was tinged with shards of bitterness, but the sound still brought him relief.

“Join me for a hunt today?”

Why were they like this? How did both ward and prince acquire a thrill for such things? It was Uther’s fault, Merlin was sure of it.

“Erm.”

No - stop that. Princelings do not ‘um’ or ‘erm.’

Morgana was already raising her eyebrows. “I expected a more enthusiastic response.”

“I mean - of course,” Merlin tried not to rush his words. “I was simply - making sure the afternoon was free.” Well, it was now, he supposed. ‘Arthur’ had already rowed with his father; as long as Arthur knew and was apologetic the next day, this would work out alright.

This was absolutely the wishful thinking talking.

“I’ll make certain of it,” Morgana insisted.

Of course she would.

==

Arthur leaned his back against the wall, eyes vacant.

“That was incredibly well done sire,” Gaius said, washing his hands in a fresh basin of water. Arthur had gathered it in a daze when asked, and hadn’t sat down after, preferring to try and forcibly wipe most of the recent events from his mind.

“What?” he asked, still not quite listening.

“I said,” Gaius primly started on re-filling a vial of some concoction that relieved pain. Arthur knew the smell of it well; it had made a frequent appearance after tourneys and training. “Well done, sire. Merlin made far too many faces the first time I had asked him to assist me in a birth. Also he managed to protest his involvement from beginning to end. You were almost compliant.”

Arthur stared at Gaius.

“And you only squeaked once,” Gaius assured him, almost kindly.

“I made _no_ such noise,” Arthur threatened with a raised finger. “I - wait.”

“There’s no shame in it Arthur. Merlin wasn’t nearly as sheltered as you when he arrived in Camelot, but there are many experiences neither of you would be privy to, even now.”

How was he getting lectured right now? Hang _on_ a minute.

“You know?” he nearly shouted before remembering how thin the walls were. “You _knew?_ ” he hissed.

“ _Merlin_ told me. Of course I knew. In all honesty, I might have discovered it by simply watching you. You are not a very good actor.” A thoughtful pause. “Your highness.”

Arthur did rapid calculations in his head, his expression fluctuating between outrage and incredulity.

For a moment silence reigned between them. Arthur’s eyes drifted to the floor, still shifting between emotions like a honey bee would wildflowers. Gaius let him regain his composure, because he was kindly, and Arthur knew he was being granted such lenience because he was Arthur. Not because he was the prince.

“You won’t tell my father?”

Gaius smiled, obviously tired but mostly amused. “Of course not. Not if I don’t have to. Histrionics do little to assist your situation.”

There was literally no better way to phrase it. If the man hadn’t dedicated his life to the medicinal arts, he would have made a consummate diplomat. Even Arthur knew that telling his father would have doomed at least one of them.

He sat on his instinctual protest for once, realizing the potential hypocrisy before it left his mouth. There was a reason he didn’t want his father told, after all.

“Thank you.”

“Yes, yes,” Gaius waved a hand. “You will have to handle the research I normally have Merlin assist with. You will not speak of how we handled this to anyone but Merlin and myself. Understood?”

If it got him back in his own skin, Arthur would move mountains. “Of course.”

“Very good. Before that, however, we do need to replenish our supply of hemlock and thyme.”

An expectant Look was thrown in Arthur’s direction. “I don’t know where to find such things,” he answered, tone flat.

“Fortunately for you, I do. Would you rather enter the castle and make the rounds distributing tonics and other medications instead?”

And face Morgana? Or Guinevere? (Or his father?)

“No! No - I - I can handle a bit of … plantnapping.”

“As you wish, sire,” Gaius said without a single trace of irony.“

==

The next time they were in the same space together, Merlin had barged in - accidentally in-character - and demanded to speak with ‘Merlin’ alone. It cleared the armory in less than a minute.

“I see you’ve taken to your temporary station with glee,” Arthur didn’t pout at all. Merlin noted it was obvious he missed having an excuse to be grandiose.

“Hardly. I just wanted to make sure you knew Morgana wants to go hunting this afternoon and is currently trying to convince your father to allow this. I also may have … upset him this morning. So you might also have to apologize for it tomorrow. Don’t worry about it.”

Watching Merlin’s own face churn like a storm cloud was educational. That’s what he would take away from this.

“MERLIN.”

“I said not to worry! It wasn’t dire, no one got hurt and so on - he was just a bit peeved in your direction.”

Arthur put a hand to his face, and held very still. Merlin heard him murmuring to himself.

“Are you counting down?”

“Patience is a virtue, but the well is running dry.”

Merlin’s face crumpled, just a little. “I am sorry. I know my mouth runs away from me. Often.” He explained his misstep, carefully avoiding repeating anything that had left Uther’s lips. Some injuries didn’t need reliving.

“You really are an idiot, Merlin.”

“Morgana was thrilled at least,” he said, not willing to apologize twice. Not when he was, ultimately in the right. What little pride he had left clung to this.

“It explains her inviting you - er, me - anywhere.”

Was Arthur’s sullen tone a sign of jealousy, or was Merlin really starting to lose his mind?

“Definitely not,” Arthur retorted, and sounded about half-truthful. “I would normally have you along with us for that. And Morgana would bring Guinevere.” There was a dawning horror as he spoke that Merlin cherished, ever so slightly. “Please don’t.”

“But I _need_ you,” Merlin wheedled without care for his own life.

“I am going to murder you in your sleep.”

“Yeah? When?”

Arthur’s somewhat disturbed look made Merlin reconsider what he just said.

 _Change the subject!_ “In any case. Do you have suggestions for me to avoid this whole training with swords business?”

“Why should I ever help you not make a fool of yourself?”

“Because I have your face,” Merlin didn’t waste a beat before responding. “And that means it’s really just you looking the fool. Not I.”

Arthur, waning in both hope and delight, sighed an exaggerated groan.

==

Practice and training were narrowly avoided, but not entirely. Being a Prince did have its perks, yet Merlin would never be completely free of being ordered around by Arthur, no matter what he looked like.

He had, when minimal privacy returned for one blessed moment, done another cursory (and entirely off the cuff) check to see if he had done something to cause this while dreaming.

Gaius shook his head. “Surely you would know for certain?”

Merlin, despairing about his life in general, merely _tsked_. “I wouldn’t know. I thought I was certain this morning, but then … I don’t really know how to find out, except instinctually. Your books don’t have instructions for this sort of thing.”

“Ah - I’ve been looking into your situation.” The grim look Gaius wore wasn’t promising, but the man continued. “Usually there is a time limit, based on the power of the initial spell. But more curiously, it is not very well known. More often it is an enchantment, cast on an item and worn in tandem between two people. This is a highly experimental design.” He rubbed his chin. “More in the spirit of ‘doing it to see if it could be done’ I’m sure. Likely it was abused in order to achieve this catastrophe - but the level of difficulty involved means its uses are limited.”

Merlin tried not to glaze over. Not that Gaius wasn’t telling him _incredibly_ important information, but frankly Gaius tended to go on a bit when he had the chance. He’d obviously been an eager student when magic was free to learn as a trade.

“So. How … do we undo the spell?”

Unruffled, Gaius shrugged. “That knowledge might well be lost.” What _hadn’t_ been lost? Merlin tried not to think about that question for too long. “It hasn’t been recorded as lasting longer than a day, at most.”

“What if it’s not a spell?”

“You’re suggesting switching bodies is … a natural occurrence?”

“No! …Maybe?”

At this Gaius turned contemplative. “Perhaps a magic that is not our own - not human-born. I will review my sources.”

“Arthur’s original plan,” said ‘Arthur,’ “was to just bully Geoffrey into letting us look at the forbidden records.”

“A terrible idea,” Gaius snapped. “Geoffrey is already strained from your repeated exercises in trying his suspension of disbelief.”

“But Arth - I mean, me - I could just ask, couldn’t I?”

“Arthur isn’t necessarily the final word on the books even Uther feared to burn,” Gaius warned, not even bothering to ply Merlin with assurances. “No. It is better if you, as you are, go alone.”

The weight of those words seemed to settle, reality orienting itself while Merlin remembered exactly what was at stake. Somewhat literally. “Oh.”

“Yes. _Oh_.” The physician sighed, tightly coiled fear unraveling to the naked eye. “If Arthur is found doing such things, there will be minimal consequence. But if ‘Merlin’ is found to be with him … I would rather not think what conclusions Uther might leap to.”

For a moment, Merlin forgot the threat of magic and thought about something else entirely.

Derailed, he missed his body’s brusque re-entry, even with the door slamming open.

“Gaius - oh - Merlin. Good. You’re here.”

There was an awkward lull before Gaius took the reins. “Merlin tells me you have a terrible plan.”

Ah, yes, familiar ground.

==

Merlin, feeling merciful, did not insist on Arthur’s presence on Morgana’s impromptu hunting session. However this did not stop her from having Guinevere assist them.

Gwen, for her part, seemed surprised to be here, and torn between amusement and curiosity that ‘Arthur’ was even invited.

Which, ow - but fair.

“I presume you brought the crossbow.”

“Not ‘the’,” because Merlin remembered Arthur had named the one hanging on the wall - half-displayed - in the armory. It was certainly the shiniest toy in the shed. And, more importantly, it was the one Merlin was most familiar with.

Aiming? He would not dare to _dream_ to aim correctly. But he could use it properly, at least.

“Oh yes. Branwen.”

Merlin fought the urge to protest this. He fought so hard. “…Yes,” he managed, through gritted teeth, instead.

Morgana tittered, as if unable to help herself. “I really thought we’d outgrown naming our toys.”

“Can’t leave all of our childhood behind,” Merlin muttered, defensive for reasons he knew not. The moment the phrase hit the air, he knew he’d made a mistake.

“Interesting. Just yesterday you were telling me I needed to stop naming the castle chickens.”

“That,” he struggled to stay afloat in the conversation. “Was just - because they - they won’t be around for very long. Seems. Pointless.”

Oh gods. Why.

This time, both women turned to look at him, their expressions equally incredulous.

“Nevermind it, I suppose,” Merlin continued, looking straight ahead to avoid instant death. “Naming the bloody crossbow wasn’t my idea anyway.”

No - well, it had been at least half-Arthur’s responsibility. Merlin had egged him on, teasing Arthur for his sentimentality, and had regretted it ever since.

A strange, but comfortable silence overtook them as they meandered into known red deer territory. To Arthur’s credit, as well as the Steward, they never took down more than was necessary. Feasts notwithstanding. The route was familiar to both horse and rider.

On that note, Merlin was a little surprised Arthur’s horse hadn’t yet bucked him off. The stallion hadn’t seemed spooked. Merlin was used to animals being far more sensitive to magic, though perhaps it was simply because the animal recognized Merlin under the involuntary disguise.

Look. Horses were not to be underestimated.

“Let us set up here,” Morgana decided, then looked to Merlin, borderline expectant.

They were in a decent crop of trees, hidden between low branches and on the crest of a slope that wasn’t so steep as to be dangerous to perch. It sank into a gully, which had a small pond. A decent spot to try and catch a vulnerable creature.

He nodded, mind running at high speeds to figure out how to make this entire event end faster.

Never would he admit it to Arthur, but perhaps the man had something in mind when he talked about training Merlin to handle at least one accessible weapon. Just one, he hadn’t nearly begged of Merlin every other week. Just learn _one_.

At last, if only for the shock value it would incur, Merlin considered it.

“…Are you feeling alright?”

“Hm?”

Morgana’s smile was, for lack of a better word, curious. “You’re being remarkably acquiescent.”

“Surely you know I occasionally find your ideas have merit,” and that was Peak Arthur, Merlin had discovered - and thankfully managed to convey.

“There he is,” Merlin absolutely did not hear Gwen mutter under her breath. He refrained from wiping a false tear from his eye; he was so proud.

“Ah, occasionally,” Morgana sharpened like a knife. “I see.”

Unlike Arthur, who would walk into Morgana’s traps like an unwitting bear still sleepy from hibernation, Merlin could see the spiked pit looming beneath his feet. The question was, would he willingly throw himself into certain embarrassment, or would he pull a quick heel turn and save his own skin, even if it would be considered out of character.

This was a difficult decision. Because Merlin was actually terrified of Morgana. In a good way. In a platonic, friendly way.

“More often than you think,” he decided to say, toeing the line.

The lady’s mouth opened, then shut. Then opened. “Are you willingly giving me a compliment?”

For fuck’s sake, Arthur.

“Yes. I am. Don’t get used to it,” he said, finding the words clipped and awkward. He often played at being haughty, but when put to the test it was a lot more difficult to do convincingly.

Commanding? He could do commanding. Smug? A little, sure, but not so much that it brought other people too low.

Arthur was good at it. Slinging shit to make himself feel better wasn’t something he did as often these days, Merlin had put a firm stop (or gradual weathering) to that from day one. Or perhaps just gave Arthur a worthier target. But it was uncomfortable to remember how casually Arthur could eviscerate someone’s with merely his words.

And Morgana was, in fact, a thousand times worse.

To his ill-hidden surprise, Morgana merely stared, lips turning a thoughtful moue. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on,” oh gods was he really this horrid an actor? He thought he had this lying thing down by now.

“Seriously, Arthur,” and now she was pulling out more formidable arsenal: genuine concern. Merlin could die. “You’ve not been yourself as of late. First this morning with your father, then you avoid training - and you actually came with me when I invited you to go hunting.”

Before Merlin could open his mouth to try and salvage this rapidly devolving situation, Morgana continued. “I know Uther has insisted on more proper protocol, ever since we both became of age … but your refusals as of late have felt more personal.”

Merlin did not have notes for this. He was absolutely unprepared. Sure, he’d noticed a growing distance between the king’s ward and the prince, but Arthur had not mentioned any specific grievance between them.

Tilting his head down and away to hide the growing panic, Merlin attempted to find the most truthful falsehood he could manage.

This was his first (technically not at all his first, but let’s pretend) mistake.

“I was expecting you to brush this aside immediately,” Morgana decided, shrewd and soft simultaneously.

“I have … a lot on my mind.” He could see her lean back to scoff at him properly, and waved a hand to stall her response. “I meant - if I gave the impression I no longer cared for your company, that was wrong.”

Merlin could feel Gwen’s eyes boring into him, even from behind Morgana’s steed. He was certain he was sweating, trying to remember if there had been any hint of true dispute from Arthur’s perspective.

In this moment, something tweaked the edge of his senses. A little twitch of Wrongness. He snapped his gaze to meet Morgana. “Get off the horse - now!”

See? He could do commanding.

The heat of urgency in his voice provoked action. Morgana flipped her dress and her legs off her mare, moreso startling Gwen than the horse - thankfully. “What is it?” she hissed.

What answered her was a fast, inaccurate arrow that screamed past her cheek, imbedding itself in the tree several feet behind her.

Unfortunately, _this_ spooked the horse. It reared back and neighed loudly. Arthur’s stallion barely flinched, but Merlin could feel its muscles tighten in readiness.

To his everlasting shame, he was not nearly as composed as his horse.

When Merlin panicked, he often tried to stymie his first three instincts by letting the paralytic agent of Indecision keep him from doing something incomprehensibly foolish. Unlike most people who lived in Camelot, Merlin’s top three responses to any threat were all of the magical variety. By the time the fourth suggestion wedged itself into his list of options, Merlin would no longer be risking his life by getting involved. The system had been working rather well since his first day here, and he had hoped it would carry long beyond him.

Alas, this was not to be.

The sword on his hip was purely decorative, was the issue. He wasn’t used to having a weapon on him when situations turned dire. And when he finally spotted their interlopers - two men, one preparing to aim, Merlin’s head was entirely empty of anything but the need for all of this stop.

So he held out a hand, and it did.

Magic responded, as always, like an eager puppy, and suddenly there was silence. No wind through the trees, nor scattering woodland creatures. The two (definitely) bandits were frozen in place.

…Ah he’d gone a bit over the top.

Eyes darted to Morgana and Gwen, and he realized they too had been caught in the spell.

Fair enough. He didn’t want an audience for this anyway.

He moved down into the gully, hurried, as he wasn’t quite sure how long he could keep this up. Dragging the men away, frozen as they were, was a lot easier with Arthur’s strength than his own. Eventually he tugged them over difficult terrain, into a ditch - one rather difficult to immediately jump out from.

Out of spite, he set them across from one another, posing them like wooden dolls. A moment’s pause, and he removed the man’s finger away from the trigger on his weapon.

Another moment of contemplation had him pulling their breeches half down past their knees.

Satisfied, he made his way back, jogging as he could feel his grip on this spell loosen, his mind starting to feel faint from the effort.

Of course, nothing ever worked out well for him. Exactly as he stumbled to his very still horse, his power cut him off at the knees, and he collapsed to the forest floor, providence allowing his arms to hold him from going face first into the dirt. Sound rushed back to life, and he could hear the harsh breaths of his own strained lungs. It had been like carrying an anvil on his brain near the end of it.

A great distance away, he heard a startled shout of pain.

_Good._

“Arthur?”

There was no immediate yelling, but Merlin could hear the shock in Morgana’s voice. Nervously, he glanced upwards, but refused to look either of them in the eye, unwilling to face the fear, the anger, or disappointment.

“Was…would you consider this nearer to the eastern borders?” he panted.

Mute, both women nodded their heads in tandem.

“Oh. Good.”

He was right. And now he’d die, being right.

“Arthur … how long?” And that was Guinevere, whose shock was absolutely repressing the howling gale force winds of her fury. He thought of Tom, her father, and buckled.

This lie, he could not do. Not to Gwen.

“I’m not Arthur.”

The man in question would kill him, but at least now he’d have to get through Morgana and Gwen first. As in, they’d likely claim the right to his head before Arthur knew what had happened.

It was fine. He’d envisioned worse deaths.

“I’m sorry?” Morgana arched both brow and tone, cracking like a whip. “What on earth do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” Merlin tried wiping his hands on himself, but realized it just meant more work to clean the mail he’d thrown on awkwardly at the prince’s insistence. At least it hadn’t felt as heavy as when he’d last been manhandled into it. He grunted. “I mean I’m not Arthur. I’m just stuck as him until whatever happened to us wears off.”

At this, Morgana’s sword left its sheath. If Gwen had been more prepared, she would have followed suit, Merlin was sure.

“If you are not Prince Arthur, then who are you?” Morgana was much closer, her blade outstretched with the casual confidence of a viper in wait. “And how did you plan on keeping this scheme of yours secret? I must admit, you have some of his mannerisms down pat. Decent spy-craft on your part.”

Deciding, wisely, not to roll his eyes, Merlin let his posture slacken. “It’s me. It’s Merlin, I mean.”

Gwen’s startled shout of laughter snapped the budding tension in half.

“No.” Disbelief, raw and without filter. Morgana raised her blade again, then lowered it half-way, squinting. “…Really?” And there, right there. There was the mirth he’d been waiting for.

“Please laugh if you wish,” Arthur’s tired voice left his mouth, and Merlin had never related more to the echo. “I’d like to, but I’ve been busy. Never had a spare moment.”

Morgana, not willing to be fooled, was rightfully cautious. “Prove it.”

As he opened his mouth to make a fumbling effort, Gwen beat him to the punch. “What did you say to me in the stocks - on your first day here?”

“Oh um.” Hang on, he knew this. “… ‘Right. I’m Merlin. Although most people call me –’ ”

“Idiot,” Gwen finished, ending his sentence in a chorus. She sounded almost fond. “I see that hasn’t changed.”

“Hey,” he said, voice weak and barely affronted.

Morgana’s gaze was too intense to meet. “You. Have magic?”

Oh right. That.

“Kind of.”

“That wasn’t ‘kind of’ - that was incredible. What did you do?” Gwen seemed to bounce back from betrayal like a frog from a lilypad. Or maybe she simply wasn’t Morgana.

“Honestly, not really sure? The world pauses, or slows, when I need it to. Half of what I manage is just, instinct. I don’t know nearly anything.” And now he tilted his eyes, daring himself to view Morgana’s face.

“You told me,” she started, lips twisting in a snarl before flattening to muted disdain. “You said you didn’t know how to help me. But that the druids would. You said you didn’t know.”

Merlin did not try to stand. He simply locked his jaw, teeth clenching.

“But you still helped me,” Morgana continued, and shared a potent look with Gwen, who looked more bemused than anything. “Because you did know, didn’t you?”

“My lady,” Gwen murmured, her mind obviously trying to parse the truth of the scene before her.

That flat expression remained for a few more excruciating moments, before Morgana softened and re-sheathed her sword. “Your fear is mine. Your secrets are mine as well.”

“I’m sorry Morgana,” and genuinely he wished he had his own voice for this.

“It is forgiven. I learned things from the druids I could not have learned from you. I am grateful I had the chance.”

Gwen shook her head. “I will hear more of this from you. From _both_ of you,” she said, more flinty than Merlin had ever seen her. “You lied to me. I understand - I understand why, but –”

“Gwen - I am so sorry. I have given you too little credit. But … the fear,” Morgana’s voice trembled, though it did so with anger, not sadness. “It blinds us.”

“I arrived in Camelot just in time to witness an execution,” Merlin found himself revealing. “That sort of thing sticks with you,” he added, daring to get himself kneeling, despite the dizziness he was still suffering.

He must have looked worse for wear. Gwen hesitated, but moved past Morgana and offered a hand.

Managing a tentative smile in return, Merlin accepted.

==

“What on earth haven’t you done to keep Camelot standing?”

“I’ve yet to fly,” Merlin admitted.

“Can you even do such a thing?”

“I haven’t tried,” he let out a strong, gusty sigh. “It’s not like I have a lot of space to practice! Or time.”

“We could arrange for such things,” Morgana pondered, and Merlin saw the eager light behind her eyes. “I certainly could stand to at least pretend for a few hours a day that I don’t live under Uther’s rule.”

Both Merlin and Gwen found each other’s gaze and let out nervous laughter. “I mean. Have some caution. Or precaution. But - I don’t know - I never considered the idea. I can’t think of a place that isn’t patrolled that is also within walking distance.”

“Let me figure that part out,” Gwen promised, surprising her companions. At their looks, she pouted. “You two - I’ve been a servant living here almost all my life. Trust me, I know every nook and cranny we could co-opt for illicit purposes.” She turned bright red. “Not like that! Not - FOR that - I mean –”

Morgana laughed so hard she nearly fell off her horse, regal bearing all but abandoned.

==

In the night, the castle was quiet, with only the sound of torches flickering in the wind. Merlin had maneuvered himself around in the dark before, but not so often with Arthur as his clumsier shadow.

There was an upside to having Arthur’s frame under his control. He wasn’t nearly so easy to jump or startle - his body somehow just … didn’t. As if the muscles he temporarily puppeteered had precise control. As it was in the forest, Merlin was far more physically capable than he was expecting.

Hilariously, Arthur was having a similar experience in the opposite direction.

“You’re like a yearling,” Merlin’s own voice murmured, annoyance laced with something unfamiliar. “How have you not injured yourself more often?”

It wasn’t really a question. “Sheer force of will.”

“I do have a new appreciation for the amount of effort you put in to staying upright.”

“Was that a compliment?” And this time, Merlin sounded far more genuine, unable to hide the actual shock.

“…No?”

“I don’t believe you.”

And then the snootiness crept back in. “I was more astounded by your amazing lack of broken bones, considering all you have is legs.”

“I’ll take it.” And Merlin would. Albeit mostly to see Arthur’s - his own, really - face scrunch up like that.

This was all for appearances. Gaius miraculously managed to convince Arthur that it was in fact safer for Merlin (currently Arthur) to try his hand with Geoffrey than for Arthur (currently Merlin) to either be there with him _or_ _especially_ on his own.

Both Gaius and Merlin were fortunate that Arthur had not asked how Merlin _knew_ the in’s and out’s of the library. Certainly it was better he didn’t know.

Probably.

Spotting a guard out of his peripheral vision, Merlin quickly straightened his back and ignored the brief look of triumph Arthur sported at the sight. “Go make ready my chambers,” he said, once again hoping he hit the right pitch and cadence.

By the disturbed look on Arthur’s face, he had succeeded.

It was the little things in life you enjoy.

==

Geoffrey, who was looking ready to take a nap, seemed thrilled to have Prince Arthur asking questions. To the man’s credit, Merlin had perpetually left one terrible impression after another - he was at least somewhat justified in his prejudice there.

“I was hoping not to inform my father,” ugh, ugh, ugh. “But it is to settle a dispute we were having earlier this morning.”

“Of course - please - take your time. Just be very careful! Many of those manuscripts are old and delicate.”

Yes, yes, he would be careful.

==

Hours later, Merlin slammed the door of Arthur’s chambers open and then shut. He stormed to the bed and fell face-first into it.

There was a muffled yell.

Arthur, who had been stoking the fire, witnessed all of this with a bland look on his face. “I take it you found nothing.”

It was a testament to both of them, and their current situation, that Merlin’s taking of liberties didn’t even provoke commentary.

“Nothing. All of it is about ‘as ye be under a third waxing moon’ and ‘this requires permission’ or just - so much preparation and planning. It hasn’t been recorded as a spontaneous event.”

He would never say it to Gaius’ face, but sorcerers really were too studious. It was why he struggled so often to find references to ‘instinct’ or ‘by nature’ - most of them had no such experience. But for Seers, Merlin was an anomaly ever still.

It was lonely. It was less lonely now, especially after the events of the not-hunt earlier, but Merlin had thought he’d never have people to talk to on the matter, besides Gaius (and his mother bless her, but she didn’t have much knowledge to give).

Arthur moved closer. “This situation isn’t tenable.”

“No shite,” Merlin spoke directly into the bedding.

“I need to resume my duties - and you - well.” Arthur’s tone changed somewhat, growing solemn. “You have your own responsibilities.”

Merlin tilted his head to let one eye meet Arthur’s whole face. _His_ face. (He was still very unnerved by this - but it was easier to ignore the eeriness than confront it). “I thought you thought I spent every spare minute at the tavern.”

“I was certainly convinced of that until I had to do your work for you,” Arthur said, strangely hurried. “Besides, even if you’re not a prince, you’re not … unimportant. To Camelot.”

“…Have you taken ill?”

A sharp sigh. “Merlin, accept the compliment.”

“Your magnanimousness astounds and bewilders, as always sire.”

“Shut up.”

There was a shifting as Arthur sat on the edge of what was technically his bed.

“…Now what?”

“We report back to Gaius. I will return to your horrible bed and you get to stay here in the lap of luxury.”

“Wow. Thank you,” the deadpan was impossible to contain.

For a moment, both took in the comfortable, if weary, silence. A pop of wood shook Merlin from the doze he’d been slipping into.

“Can Gaius wait til morning?” he said, not bothering to hide his exhaustion.

“Mn,” Arthur returned, leaning against one of the posts.

“Is that a yes?”

“Shut up and sleep.”

“You should help me undress,” Merlin asked, feeling immediately regretful that he’d asked. “Nevermind, what _am_ I thinking, asking you that. You don’t know how.”

“I do know how,” Arthur’s voice sounded far away.

“Then why do I have to bother with it every morning?”

“Because I want you to.”

“… I’m confused, how is that an answer?”

“Because you’re an idiot, _Merlin_ ,” there was a bit of spark to that sentence. “Just go to sleep.”

“I can’t - there’s some prince sitting at the foot of the bed who keeps talking.”

A jolt from the hand grabbing his shoulder and tilting him brought Merlin sharply back to the land of waking. Arthur loomed over him, his expression … strange.

Merlin could claim he knew most of his prince’s moods, his cadences, his expressions. His stances, his tones, his likes and dislikes; Merlin was a dedicated student of Arthur Pendragon. But this was not a face he’d seen before.

“I followed you.”

The words stole the breath from his lungs.

“Followed me where?” Merlin forced himself to answer, to roll his eyes, to maintain a blasé exterior as his heart ran cold.

“Don’t play stupid, Merlin,” Arthur warned, though he sounded far less angry than Merlin was expecting. “I was worried. I followed you and Morgana, and Gwen.”

This was a nightmare, Merlin thought. He was dreaming, and this was a nightmare. Like the many he’d had since becoming Arthur’s servant.

At the dread in his silence, Arthur’s face seemed to soften. “I’m not angry.”

Of all the things he could say, this might have been one of the worst. “Oh. Well that’s grand,” Merlin’s voice grew harsh. “I’m so relieved you’re not angry.”

“… You _sound_ angry.”

“Of course not sire, why on earth would I be angry.”

“You _are_ angry!”

“I am _not!”_

Both men drew apart. “I was trying to tell you I’m not upset that you lied to me, why are you acting like this?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Merlin simpered, eyes cutting. “Is that supposed to be generous of you? Perhaps I don’t want your _generosity_? Perhaps there are reasons as to _why_ I lied?”

“Of course there are - you have my father for a king. And so do I.”

The statement was so plaintive, it stopped Merlin’s growing tirade in its tracks.

“I do not have much say in his decisions. You and Morgana - you both think I can sway him. She has a much better chance than she knows, but she’s too outwardly repulsed by his actions. And it always shows too soon before she can make her point.” One of his hands clenched against his thigh. Merlin’s hands. “I have tried, but I fail so often - I cannot convince him he is wrong. I think I’ve given up on making him see reason.”

This was the most Arthur had said to him, candidly, in one go. Merlin was not willing to make him stop.

“I am … attempting to say that I understand. I’m more stunned, really. One minute there are bandits, and the next they’ve vanished - and you’re kneeling like the wind got knocked out of you.” Arthur couldn’t quite manage a smile. “No wonder you cheerfully avoid learning self-defense. You never really needed it, have you?”

Words struggled to form on Merlin’s tongue. “Arthur….”

“Why do you even stay? I know my father dictated your placement in our household, but surely you have better things you could be doing.”

Lost, Merlin could only shake his head, struggling to respond. When the thought finally arrived, it popped out as such: “I like you better than your father.”

Arthur huffed, amused, and a little despondent. “What does that even mean?”

“I mean, I think it means - despite everything, you’ve got a good heart buried under all that pratness.” Vulnerability was just messy, Merlin was lamenting. “I have obvious vested interest in keeping you alive, and making sure you don’t hate magic? Sure I do. But I actually think you’d be a good king. A much better one than what we’ve got now.” He paused. “Full offense meant.”

“Treason,” Arthur simply said, looking at Merlin like he’d never seen him before.

“Yes, yes, alright. I would never harm Uther. Or you.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Arthur sounded distracted.

“I can’t make promises for Morgana.”

At this, Arthur’s eyes dimmed. “I misunderstood her. I owe her a formal apology.”

“Just find us a place to light things on fire with our minds and we’ll call it even.”

“Excuse me, what?”

Merlin cracked a grin. “Never you mind. Can I sleep now?”

“Gods, yes,” Arthur fell back onto the covers.

When Merlin realized the other man wasn’t moving, he sat up, took off the mail, and flopped back onto the bed. “Budge over.”

Arthur made a noise of complaint.

“You have discovered a deadly secret I have kept about myself for nearly two years. I am laid bare and the repercussions can be discussed in the morning. But seeing as you aren’t going to put me to the pyre, I am not going to force you to sleep on my horrible cot, you giant baby. Ipso facto, budge over.”

Silence. Then Arthur scooted himself over with an uncharitable grunt.

“Thank you, sire,” Merlin primly offered, laying himself down properly above the covers.

“…Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur returned, not sounding nearly so awkward as Merlin thought he would saying such strange words. In fact, he almost sounded happy.

“I repeat - are you ill?”

“I’m begging you - go. To. Sleep.”

So Merlin did, warmed by hope and relief.

==

And when he woke, Arthur had curled entirely around him, holding tight like a limpet.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, voice rough from sleep. “Geddoff.”

“Shan’t.”

“My arm is going numb.”

“Let it.”

Merlin heard the curious hitch but said nothing, trying and failing as he was to get his arm free.

“Merlin, can you … not writhe like that?”

He stopped shimmying around and tilted his head. “I’m just trying to get comfortable,” he whined. “You were the one who wanted to sleep.”

“Not anymore.”

“But its still early morning!” As soon as he uttered the words, he caught Arthur’s eye and paused. It was so strange to see his face curate moods Merlin had never really experienced himself. Or rather, had never seen himself experience. “…Wait. What do you mean?”

It occurred to him a beat later, as he was being snogged senseless by his own self, that this was - truly - only a situation he could get into. No one - he was willing to wager - had ever put themselves into this position by accident.

Not that he minded so much right now.

==

Maybe, Merlin considered, lying sideways and swaddled half-naked in Arthur’s sheets, this romantic entanglement would break the spell.

==

“A _week_?”

There had been one person - er, source - Merlin had not had the chance to ask about his current circumstances.

Now he regretted it.

“Perhaps,” the Great Dragon opined, his huge head lazily tilting back in thought. “I believe this was some fae trickery, but it is relatively harmless.”

“I’m going to have to vehemently disagree,” Merlin spat. “We can’t go a week like this! I’m - it’s - I’m not a prince and I’m nearly certain I might incite Uther to homicide if I open my mouth in his presence again.”

“Infanticide.”

“Did you just correct me on parlance while the greater issue is that I’m stuck as the prince for a _week_?”

“At most,” the dragon seemed to grin. It was always so hard to tell - he had _many_ teeth. “You should be pleased - Prince Arthur seems to have shown his true merit, and you no longer carry the burden of hiding your true self. Isn’t that cause for celebration?”

Well. Yes. But.

“Are you certain the spell will wear off on its own?”

“Very,” one paw crossed over the other. “Be glad, Merlin. These are good tidings.”

Ugh.

“If I find out you knew how to fix this all along, I will be incredibly cross.”

“I’m terrified,” the dragon muttered. “Go. Be with your prince. You may yet find this experience educational.” _Stop bothering me_ , was unspoken.

“Any more than its already been?” he cried as the Great Dragon spread his wings and vacated the premises.

Merlin huffed and left his unusual (and aggravatingly mysterious) ally to his own devices.

…It _was_ difficult to stay angry about anything right now, if he was being honest. But the giant lizard had a way of getting under his skin.

When he relayed this news first to Arthur, the prince didn’t seem all that perturbed.

“How are you not irritated?”

“Because I trust you,” he said, plainly enough to warrant Merlin’s head swiveling sharp enough to crack. “Also I’m realizing you have a lot of freedom I’ve never had before. You can literally go anywhere you’d like and no one will notice.”

“… I don’t like how you phrased that.”

“Besides. There’s this morning to talk about.”

Oh. Yes.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it. Actually, when have you ever liked talking about anything?”

“I didn’t really mean ‘talk,’” Arthur clarified with a lazy, heated look.

Ah.

“That - it was _very_ surreal, Arthur,” Merlin admitted, with a somewhat frantic glance at the door - which shut quietly on its own with a flash of gold. “Maybe we could ‘talk’ about that after this week is over and we’re all back where we should be.”

“I don’t know, it could be educational.”

That bloody dragon and bloody Arthur might as well be psychically linked.

“Maybe. Later,” Merlin did not want to look at Arthur in the eyes. Not when his face was warming so quickly.

“Now is as good a time as any.”

…Alright then. Twist his arm.

===========================


End file.
